When the foggy San Francisco sky outside your window starts to brighten, you return from the asphyxiation of your friend’s apartment’s swimming pool. A purple light broke the silence of the night. A feeling crept up on you. Some childhood fantasies will never come true anymore, will they? As you grow older you start to realize. You won’t wake up to a mind-reading superpower or a ten-villa inheritance in the South of France. Only the San Francisco sky.

It’s ok, everything happens for the best, you tell yourself. Every decision you made has led you here. You don’t remember how or why you made them, but you also don’t need to remember. You just need to trust that you made the right choice. Trust that the boat will straighten itself out.

When the dreams end, when the exorbitant privileges run out, when the claims to exceptionalism fade, when life’s no longer smooth sailing. You can hopefully, at least, come back to this conviction.

Grass seems greener on the other side. It’s easier to think that if you did something different, you might end up ahead because it absolves you of the disappointment that this is all that you are. But you can’t observe the counterfactual: you don’t actually know whether the alternatives would be better, or if it’s a dodged bullet. So throw the rose tint back on the rearview and have faith that this life is already the best. What seem like mistakes are just lessons in anticipation. “What might have been” are always bullet showers.

What I don't like about The Grandmaster is Gong Er's love plot. In all seriousness, how can missing out on one person deprive you of a lifetime of glee? She pins her tragedy on one misstep and seeks comfort in the alternative. But in reality, no one person or one decision is that transformative. She simply can’t make peace with her past. Well, you’ll never find reconciliation if you dwell on the fait accompli. Impossible it is to have the cake and eat it too! You chose, and then you must move on. As Kierkegaard says, “laugh at the world's foolishness, and you will regret it; weep over it, and you will regret that too.” Every decision is a trade-off. Life is too big for you to claim every experience, to know everyone’s stories. So just appreciate the faces passing by — you don’t need to be them or own them.

“Cherish the moment” sure sounds trite, but you really should do what you want while you still want it. Because, you know what, delay gratification for ten years and the same things might not even gratify anymore. Just like Gong Er, for whom it was too late. Evaluate outcome over a lifetime, but don’t separate the outcome from the process. Enjoying every passing moment is a part of enjoying the result.

Some people say in your 20s, you mistake the rest stops for the whole journey. Wine spilled on the cabin floor, hotpot after movies, deep-meaningful-conversations in the living room — moments that feel like everything at the time but are mere pauses on an eternal trip. But I think, you can extend rest stops into a significant part of the journey, if only you find ways to pause more.

You know, if this whole thing were a simulation in Google Maps, then every decision would come with a tooltip saying “similar ETA.” Everyone gets there regardless, to the greatest equalizing force of death, most certainly. In time — responsibilities, love, memory, civilization, life — they will go, you know they will, in time they will. But how did you get here? How are you going there? Those are the questions worth asking.

No journey is precisely straight. In fact, it’s better to cruise along a circuitous path because being eager is bad. Obsession begets calculations about wins and losses. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow, you recall from your second least favorite play. It’s ok to spend more time on the road. It’s ok to end up somewhere different from what the society and others expect. Long as you’re happy with how you got here, and how you’re going. You don’t always have to be profound.

30,000 days run fast. You only get to be here once, and people will always disagree. So eat the food you want to eat, meet the people you want to meet. See the scenery you enjoy, and do the things you love. Grand narratives can’t fight the abyss, but contentment amassed through minute choices can. Every pleasant memory is a lamp against the darkness should misfortune bring nightfall. Reminder of the faith you’d convinced yourself of that one scorching afternoon six years ago soaked in a fortuitousness that’s almost too good to be true. The bottomless mimosa lingers at the tip of your tongue.

You hold out your hand as if waving to moments destined to expire, and think, wow, it’s really been six years. All the shine of half a decade fading. And you still believe, as some force draws you out of the core of the Earth. You’re right on time.